


fall into something else

by stelleappese



Series: Shobbs smut [1]
Category: Fast and the Furious Series, The Fate of the Furious (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Fake Science, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: Shaw has a problem; Hobbs volunteers to help him out.(The Rape/Non-Con is pretty much just me being cautious, btw)





	fall into something else

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, I hope nobody expects anything serious or even anything that makes sense, because this is the dumbest thing I've ever written lol  
> Also I've been messing with this for days and I can't take it anymore, so here it is.

 

Hobbs' ears are ringing too loudly for him to really hear what's going on. He blinks a couple of times. There is a dream-like quality to the world around him that's just about completely ruined by the throbbing in his head.  
He must have blacked out, he realizes, trying to push himself up. His balance is pretty fucked up, but it's getting better.  
Everybody else is down as well: Toretto has managed to crawl towards Letty, Mr Nobody keeps blinking hard and trying to rub his eyes, Little Nobody is just sort of flailing around but he's not fully conscious yet. Roman, Tej, Ramsay, they don't look great, but they don't look hurt either.

 

Sound is starting to come back when Hobbs finally locates Shaw. Three masked men are scattered around the room, either passed out or dead, and two more are keeping Shaw immobilized, one of them holding a gun, the other tightly gripping a chain he's wrapped around his neck and pulling back. Shaw is squinting, hands up against the chain, but he's not struggling.  
"Who?" he says, and it's the first thing Hobbs can hear more or less clearly.  
"Budapest." a voice with a posh British accent says, annoyed.  
"Budapest." Shaw repeats. "1991 or 2003?"  
"Neither!"  
"Doesn't ring a bell, mate."  
"You _set me on fire_!" the voice, which is, confusingly, coming from everywhere, says. Hobbs slowly drags himself closer. Shaw is being forced to look at the screens that usually display the security cameras around Mr Nobody's secret base, which have now been turned into a single big screen. A silhouette is on the screen, clad in shadows.  
"I've set a few blokes on fire," Shaw shrugs.  
"You stole my bloody dog!"  
Shaw stops squinting. "Oooh!" he says, "David Bowie!"  
"What."  
"The dog. David Bowie."  
"His name was Plutarch!"  
"Yeah, that was a stupid fucking name, so I changed it." Shaw shrugs. "You're the politician, aren't you? The one who ran a prostitution ring."  
"...yes."  
"Then what the fuck are you acting all righteous for?"  
The silhouette clears his throat. The masked man tightens up his grip on the chain around Shaw's neck, and Shaw makes a choked grunt that goes straight to Hobbs' nerves.

" _Hey!_ " he shouts. The masked men jump. The one holding a gun tries to point it at Hobbs, but by the time his body reacts Hobbs has already basically flung himself at him with all his weight and thrown him to the ground. He's remotely aware of the fact Shaw has taken advantage of the situation to grab his other assailant and throw him into the screens, but he's too busy repeatedly slamming Masked-Dude-With-A-Gun's head against the floor to pay too much attention.  
The world is still spinning when Hobbs gets up, but he's shrugged off the confusion enough to grab the first heavy thing he can get his hands on (possibly the banged-up remains of some computer system unit or something,) and smash it against the remaining masked guy's head, but not before the guy manages to jam some sort of syringe into Shaw's neck and inject him with something.  
Shaw half-loses his balance and ends up with his back against the wall.  
"What the fuck," he breathes out, pulling the syringe out and letting it fall on the floor, keeping his hand against his neck. "What the _fuck_?" he repeats, turning to look at the screens. One of them is cracked and turned off, now.  
"Did you just fucking _poison me_?"  
"That would be terribly boring," the voice says. "I had my man inject your with a brand new toxin developed to..."  
"So you fucking poisoned me." Shaw says.  
"No."  
"Will this kill me?"  
"Yes, but."  
"That's how poison works, you wanker."  
"It's not _poison_. If you do nothing you will, indeed, die..."  
Shaw gives Hobbs a look.  
"Sounds like poison." Hobbs shrugs.  
" _But_ ," the voice snaps, "There is a way for you to avoid dying."  
"Let me guess, is it something like an antidote?" Shaw asks, crossing his arms and glaring at the camera above the screens.  
"It's not a bloody poison, Shaw!"  
"Whatever."  
"You need to have sex in the next twelve hours."  
The silence that follows that last sentence is astoundingly deep.  
"What the fuck." Hobbs whispers. "I came out of retirement for _this shit_?"  
The voice goes on talking about adrenaline and testosterone and dopamine and changes in the cerebellum and a lot of other things that make absolutely no sense.  
"That said, Deckard Shaw..." the voice starts.  
"That all sounded fake." Shaw shrugs. He and Hobbs look at each other.  
"Yeah, it sounded made up." Hobbs agrees.  
"I said: That said, Deckard Shaw," the voice repeats, louder. "What are you going to do? With which of your new _family_  are you going to irreparably ruin your relationship with?"  
"It's not like we like each other _that_  much..." Shaw says.  
The voice ignores him: "Mrs Toretto? The mysterious Ramsay?"  
"Nah, I'm just gonna die." Shaw says.  
The voice hesitates. "What?" he says.  
"I'm not about to force myself on either of them, and I'm most definitely not fucking any of those other assholes, so I reckon I'm just gonna die."  
"Suit yourself," the voice hisses, and the screens turn off.  
"What a fucking weirdo." Hobbs mutters, then turns towards Shaw. "Let me see," he says, grabbing his wrist and taking a look at his neck. There's a smattering of blood, but the puncture hole seems to have closed already. Shaw slaps Hobbs' hand off of him. "Do you feel... anything?"  
"I feel fine." Shaw says, with a little shrug.

*

"Well," Mr Nobody says, hands on his hips, looking peculiarly unbothered. "We're locked in."  
"Why do I keep doing this to myself?" Roman, who hasn't even attempted to get off the floor, says. "Why do I hang out with you guys?"  
"It's not a big deal," Mr Nobody continues, "We have a protocol for this kind of situation. Nowhere sends a signal to our other bases every couple of hours, so the good news is they should know something is wrong, by now."  
"What's the bad news?" Toretto asks.  
"It will take... a while, to get us out." Mr Nobody shrugs.  
"A while." Hobbs repeats, giving Shaw a look. It's been at least two hours since he got maybe-poisoned, and he looks... dazed. He definitely hasn't been spewing snarky shit at him for a while.  
"At least twenty-four hours." Little Nobody says.  
"And I'm already hungry." Roman sighs.  
Shaw tugs at his tie. Once he's loosened it enough, he takes it off and lets it fall to the ground. He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes.  
"You all right, Shaw?" Hobbs asks.  
Shaw just grumbles.

*

After another hour, Shaw has taken his jacket and vest off and is looking flushed and confused. He's definitely weak enough he doesn't tear Hobbs' arm off when he touches his cheek.  
"You're burning up," Hobbs says.  
"Leave me alone." Shaw answers.  
"We should try to get your temperature down."  
"Fuck off."  
"You're a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?"  
Shaw lets his head rest against the glass wall behind him. He closes his eyes.  
"You know," Hobbs says, lowering his voice. "I could... you know. Help."  
Shaw doesn't move. He doesn't even open his eyes. He just frowns.  
"What are you talking about?"  
"This... toxin is obviously having some sort of effect on you, and I mean... we don't know if that dude lied or not, but it's... worth a try?"  
"I'm not having sex with you."  
"But what if he was telling the truth?"  
"I don't give a fuck. I'm not giving in to the fucked up fantasies of a pervert. I'd much rather just die."  
"I'm not... _look at me_ ," Hobbs hisses, and Shaw finally opens his eyes. "I'm _not_  letting you die again."  
He was trying to sound... he's not entirely sure. He definitely didn't want his voice to sort of waver pitifully at the end of the sentence the way it did...  
"Ah," Shaw says, eyes wide. "You know, you do have some sort of obsession for my ass, but I was under the impression it was a, hm. Heterosexual obsession."  
"It was more of an angry bisexual obsession." Hobbs mutters, "But that's irrelevant."  
"Well, I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you." Shaw says, closing his eyes again. 

*

Four hours in, and Shaw looks like shit. He's trying to stay as still as possible, but he sometimes breathes in sharply as if something's hurting him.  
"There are showers in the sleeping quarters below us," Hobbs tells him.  
"Why must you bother me even on my deathbed..."  
"Shut up." Hobbs says, automatically, "Your temperature is too high."  
Shaw complains, but he does try to stand up, and when he does do that, his knees don't seem to hold his weight and he just flops to the ground instead.  
"Are you...?"  
"Stop asking me if I'm all right." Shaw snaps. He groans, grabbing the chair he was sitting on and hauling himself up. It takes him a moment to get stable enough to walk.

The sleeping quarters of the base are a few flights of stairs below them, and by the time they get there Shaw is pretty much hugging the wall to keep himself up.  
"I'm _fine_." he growls, when Hobbs tries to help, glaring at him with shiny, feverish eyes.  
Once they reach the closest bedroom, Shaw has to sit on the bed for a moment.  
"How are you feeling?" Hobbs asks, turning on the lights and walking into the bathroom.  
"Unstable." Shaw answers. "Like the floor moves up and down underneath my feet when I walk."  
"Are you in pain?"  
"My shirt is hurting me a little."  
"Is it too tight?"  
"No, it's... the way the fabric rubs against my skin."  
"Well," Hobbs says, walking back to the bedroom and helping Shaw up. "This isn't gonna be pleasant, then."

Shaw is too weak to do anything about it, but he still practically _screams_  when the cold water starts hitting him.  
"Jesus _fucking_  Christ!" he half-shouts, breathless, curling up on himself.  
"Sorry. It won't take long," Hobbs says, even though he couldn't swear on that. He wishes he had something, anything, to do to keep himself occupied while he waits, because Shaw's shirt is sticking to his skin and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, and the fucking noises he's making, little whimpers and angry moans, are going straight to Hobbs' dick, and he feels _so bad_  about it.  
"It's so fucking cold..." Shaw stutters, teeth rattling.  
"Just a bit more." Hobbs says, but doesn't have it in him to keep Shaw under the shower much longer. Once he turns off the water Shaw feels a bit cooler, but Hobbs still has to basically pick him up and drag him to the bedroom.

Hobbs tries not to look at Shaw while he slowly takes his wet clothes off and lets them drop to the floor.  
"How's it going?" he asks, too loud, looking at the wall.  
Shaw grunts. There's a rustling of bed sheets, and when Hobbs turns around Shaw is curled up under the covers and shivering hard.  
"Listen, what I said before... it still stands." Hobbs says, crouching next to the bed, "If you want me to... help. I can do that."  
Shaw just looks at him for a moment, then hides his face against the covers.

*

It's been almost seven hours from the attack, and Hobbs is nodding off beside the bed where Shaw is still shivering violently, when Shaw says: "You know what?" and tears him away from sleep. "I don't actually want to die. So. Hm. Help?"

It takes a long moment for Hobbs' brain to make sense of those words.  
"Oh." he says, softly. "You sure?"  
"Yes."  
"All right. Ok. Uh. All right. Let me just..."  
Hobbs gets up, walks to the bathroom, splashes water on his face. He feels like he's very close to panicking, but he forces himself to push that back.  
"Stay focused." he murmurs.  
He doesn't have any condoms with him, and the only acceptable substitute to lube he finds is some body lotion, but he will have to make do.  
"It's gonna be fine," he says, before walking back to the bedroom.

"How do you want to do this?" he asks, lingering beside the bed, fidgeting with the body lotion.  
"Well, I ain't gonna be good for much," Shaw says, weakly.  
"Are you ok with me, uh..."  
"Listen, I'm already probably dying, don't torture me with this conversation." Shaw groans. "Just get your dick inside me and let's get this over with."  
"Fair enough," Hobbs murmurs, and sits on the bed. He kicks his shoes off, takes a deep breath.  
He's not sure what part of 'having sex' needs to be addressed. Dopamine and adrenaline and all that stuff... is that what happens in someone's brain when they come, or just during the whole act iself?  
"Let's just... let's take it easy." he says, mostly to himself. Shaw hums. 

He's thinking the most comfortable position for Shaw would be on his hands and knees, but he's not entirely sure he can hold himself up, and the thought of not being able to look at him, to keep an eye out for any sign of something being wrong, makes Hobbs uncomfortable.  
"I'm going to put a pillow under you, ok?" he says. He doesn't want to get the covers off of Shaw, since he's still shaking like a leaf, so he grabs a pillow from the chair he was sitting on, sneaks underneath the covers, leaning over Shaw. "Can you get on your back and...?"  
"Got it." Shaw says. He rests a hand on Hobbs' shoulder for balance as they maneuver to the right position, lets himself fall back against the bed once he's done.

Hobbs hesitates.  
He's kneeling between Shaw's spread legs, his naked body sprawled underneath him. He can see Shaw's abdominal muscles contract underneath his skin as he tries to contain the shivering, and he instinctively rests a hand on them to massage them a little. Shaw flinches, his lips pressed in a tight line.  
"Maybe you should get under the shower again," Hobbs whispers. He's radiating heat, Shaw, a layer of sweat glistening all over him.  
"I'm good," Shaw says, "Just do it."  
Hobbs nods. He reaches down between them and gives Shaw's dick a little tentative squeeze, starts massaging it gently. It doesn't seem to be doing much for him, though.  
Right. Well...  
"Breathe in," Hobbs says, and pours some body lotion on his hand. Shaw starts doing that, but he just gasps instead when Hobbs starts rubbing lotion against his hole. "It's all right, just breathe."  
He waits for Shaw, who's now staring at the ceiling, to start breathing deeply again.  
"I'm going to push in when you breathe out, ok?"  
"You don't need to tell me this stuff." Shaw says, between deep breaths.  
"Breathe out."  
As soon as the first finger slips in, Shaw tenses up again. He slowly manages to relax by himself, though, keeps breathing. "We ain't got all day, sunshine." he says, when Hobbs doesn't keep going immediately. It doesn't come out exactly as cocky as he was probably aiming for.

Hobbs takes his time, though. He pours some more body lotion on his hand, works him open carefully.  
He keeps looking at Shaw's face, trying to catch any sign of discomfort, but after the second finger is in, Shaw just closes his eyes again. He does, however, have a hand softly holding on to Hobbs' bicep, and when Hobbs crooks his fingers, Shaw gasps and arches up a little, fingers digging into Hobbs' arm. The way he looks at him, with his lips parted and a shocked frown, makes Hobbs pants feel suddenly tighter. Even once Shaw has willed himself back to some form of calm, he still has such a vulnerable look on his face. It's not an expression Hobbs has ever seen on him, his eyebrows drawn, his face flushed.  
"I'm going to keep going." Hobbs says. Shaw just nods.  
Once he's up to three fingers and Shaw seems to have gotten used to the feeling, Hobbs looks down to try and figure out how to proceed. He's tried not to look at Shaw's naked body too much, so he doesn't really know when it happened, but at some point while he prepared him, Shaw got hard.  
Not _completely_  hard, but hard enough.  
"Good," he murmurs, trying to shut down the part of his brain that's making his mouth water.  
He hesitantly wraps a hand around Shaw's dick, gives it a couple of squeezes. And _man_ , that's such a nice feeling; Shaw's dick is hot and smooth against his palm.  
Hobbs brain immediately goes stupid, and he hears himself say: "You've got a nice dick," and then proceeds to flinch as if someone had punched him in the stomach.  
"Cheers, mate." Shaw murmurs, weakly.  
"Yeah, uh. No problem."  
It is a nice dick, Hobbs thinks, feeling his face immediately go hot. He's used to his own dick, which is somewhat bigger, darker, and has a curve to it, and maybe once he's fully hard Shaw's dick will curve as well, but for now he's straight and just... plump in a way that makes Hobbs want to bend down and lick it.  
Also, and this is (weirdly enough) a first for Hobbs, Shaw's dick is uncut.  
Hobbs gently starts stroking him, pulling down the foreskin and brushing a thumb over the tip. Shaw's breath hitches a little, and Hobb's mouth goes dry.  
"Hey, Shaw. Can I suck your dick?" he asks. Shaw, still almost completely out of it, just chuckles like an idiot.  
Hobbs decides that means Shaw is not completely against the idea, so he slides down, the covers ballooning around him like a tent, and presses his tongue to the underside of Shaw's dick, running it all the way to the tip. Shaw shuts up, he tenses up, but very briefly; once Hobbs wraps his lips around the head of Shaw's dick in a sloppy kiss, Shaw sighs and relaxes.  
He twirls his tongue around the tip, sliding it underneath the foreskin, takes his time just exploring a little before he really starts sucking, moving his head up and down and stroking the base of Shaw's dick. He also starts fucking him with his fingers again, shivers running down his spine every time he gets too close to Shaw's prostate and Shaw gulps down a moan.  
He's found a decent rhythm when Shaw reaches down underneath the covers and touches his chin; he's bucking up his hips, but it's such a small, jerky movement Hobbs is sure he's not doing it consciously. Shaw's thumb brushes the corner of Hobbs' mouth, and just like that, with a sharp, shaky gasp, he comes. It takes Hobbs by surprise, and it's been a while since he's done this, so although he manages to swallow without choking, he still makes a mess of it.  
He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and crawls up, gives Shaw a quick look. He's trying to get his breathing back under control, eyes closed, face still flushed red. He's not shaking anymore, not really.  
"You good?" Hobbs asks, his voice hoarse. Shaw nods without opening his eyes.  

Hobbs climbs off the bed and fixes the cover over Shaw, he walks to the bathroom to clean himself up.  
He doesn't really know what to do. He walks back to the bedroom, paces around. Shaw is lying completely still, blinking at the ceiling.  
"Are you feeling any better?" Hobbs asks, stopping at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.  
"I'm not sure." Shaw says.  
"Let's just... let's wait and see." Hobbs says, trying to sound confident.

*

Shaw starts shaking again. Hobbs is starting to consider maybe the silhouette lied, maybe he did just poison Shaw and wanted to humiliate him one last time before he died. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, Hobbs, running a hand up and down Shaw's arm above the covers, trying to soothe him a bit. The fact Shaw doesn't swat his hand away or complain about it worries him.  
There's a knock on the door. Hobbs sighs and gets up.  
"Hey," Toretto says, moving his weight from one foot to the other and not making eye contact.  
"Something wrong?" Hobbs asks.  
"The monitors turned on again." he says. "He says you should, hm. Keep trying."  
This is not a conversation Hobbs wants to be having with anybody, let alone with Toretto.  
"Is he...?"  
"He's definitely watching."  
"Oh, great. That's just. Fucking spectacular."  
"Ramsay and Tej are working on tracking him, but even if they do..."  
"We'll worry about that once we're out of here." Hobbs says. "Hopefully Shaw sets him on fire again." 

Once Toretto walks away (very fast, too,) Hobbs closes the door and turns towards the bed.  
"Did you hear that?" he asks.  
"I heard," Shaw says, softly.  
Hobbs walks to the bed. He crouches down so he can look at Shaw from the same level. "What do I do?"  
"Let's get this over with." Shaw says. Hobbs nods.  
He moves the covers and climbs on the bed again. He doesn't know where the camera is, but doesn't want to give whoever's watching the satisfaction of seeing everything that's going on, so he pulls the covers up as far as he can.  
"I'm just going to do it, ok?" he murmurs. Shaw, who's slowly rolling over on his back again, nods at him. He keeps winching, biting on the inside of his cheek; when Hobbs rests a hand on Shaw's side to help him in position, he can feel his muscles spasming underneath his hand. He tries not to hold too tight when he grabs him by the waist and pulls him towards him.  
Hobbs unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He takes his dick in his hand, and he tries not to feel guilty about how quickly he gets hard again. There's going to be plenty of time to feel like a disgusting piece of shit later, after all.  
He wants to tell Shaw everything is going to be all right, wants to try make it even a the smallest bit better, but he has no idea what he could possibly say to do that, so he just spreads some body lotion on his dick and guides it against Shaw's hole. Shaw tenses up, but they're both slicked enough there is little resistance; still, Hobbs pushes in and out in little increments. Shaw curls up a little, both hands now gripping at Hobbs' arms, and once Hobbs slides inside him all the way in in one single motion, Shaw presses his forehead against Hobbs' shoulder.  
"Jesus Christ," Hobbs breathes out. Shaw is tight and still feverishly hot, and his muscles keep tensing up around Hobbs' cock. "Am I hurting you?" he asks.  
Shaw doesn't answer, but he does slowly wrap his legs around Hobbs' waist and pushes him closer.  
Hobbs takes it as an encouragement.  
He leans in, starts rolling his hips, and he's almost getting comfortable when Shaw pushes him off.  
"Wait," he pants, and Hobbs feels like he's swallowed an ice cube.  
"It's all right, I can stop..." he says, but Shaw is shaking his head and trying to pull Hobbs shirt off.  
"Feels like fucking sandpaper," he says.  
"Oh. Right." Hobbs says, kneeling up and taking off his shirt. He wiggles out of his pants too, just in case.

This time around, when he leans back down, Shaw hides his face against the crook of Hobbs' neck and wraps his arms around him. He hums of a pleased little hum, and Hobbs' hips buck forward without him asking them to.  
He must like the feeling of Hobbs' skin against his own, Shaw, because his hands are spread open against Hobbs' back, and he keeps pulling him closer with his legs. He feels so fucking warm, all of him. Warm and tight and solid. Hobbs can feel him pant against his shoulder, he feels Shaw's thighs press against his sides. There is so little softness about Shaw. He's all hard muscles and sharp bones.  
Then, and it makes Hobbs' stomach do an embarrassing little hop, Shaw presses his open mouth against Hobbs' neck, his tongue softly dragging against Hobbs' skin.  
" _Fuck_ ," Hobbs whines. He rests a hand on the back of Shaw's neck and starts thrusting again. Just like that, Shaw bites down on Hobbs' throat, his fingernails sinking into Hobbs' back.  
Hobbs is about to ask Shaw is he's ok (again), if he's maybe hurting him (again), when Shaw kisses him. He moans against Hobbs' mouth, bucks his hips up to grind against him, and Hobbs reaches down between them and wraps a hand around Shaw's cock. Shaw's breathing stutters, and Hobbs feels it right against his lips.  
"God, look at you." Hobbs murmurs, slowly stroking Shaw's cock. Shaw opens his eyes at that, he gives Hobbs such a helpless look it takes a _lot_  of will power for Hobbs not to come right then. Not a lot of softness about him, but definitely some (well hidden, carefully guarded,) softness right there, in that look he just gave Hobbs.  
"Look at you," he says again, leaning in for another kiss.  
The tip of Shaw's cock is already wet when Hobbs starts jerking him off. Hobbs wants to lick it clean, but Shaw is clinging to him too hard to let him do that, so he makes do with sucking bruises against Shaw's neck as Shaw presses his head back against the pillow and fucks into Hobbs' hand. When Shaw comes it's a warm, drawn-out thing; Hobbs has to coax it out of him slowly. Shaw keeps his eyes screwed shut and his face half-hidden against the pillow, but he never lets go of Hobbs. Any noise he makes is close-mouthed and forced back; he doesn't scream, doesn't moan, he just takes big, deep breaths once it's all over. Close as they are, Hobbs can feel Shaw's heart pound so furiously it almost scares him.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice tight.  
Shaw nods, eyes almost closed, his whole body, finally, completely relaxed.  
He looks, astoundingly, almost already half-asleep when Hobbs gets up and walks to the bathroom to take care of himself.

*

Hobbs isn't sure what time it is when he wakes up.  
Shaw is still asleep next to him, lying on his side, the covers kicked aside. After the temperature he'd reached, he almost feels cold to the touch, now. Hobbs instinctively rubs a hand up and down his side to warm him up, he picks up the covers and pulls them over him, snuggles closer. It's very possible he'll kill him once he wakes up, if he's back to normal, but for now, Hobbs doesn't care. He molds a hand to Shaw's hip and nods off again.

He's woken up again by Shaw.  
"Is something...?" he begins, but Shaw is already straddling him, a hand on his dick, and the sentence turns into a: "...oh."  
With Shaw on top of him, pressing him down against the bed, he can finally really _look_  at him, at that lean, muscular body of his. There are scars scattered all over him; dull, old ones and shiny, brand new ones; straight ones from clean cuts, jagged ones, scars roughly put together by crooked stitches. There's a scar on his collarbone, surgical-looking, and right above it, the bruise Hobbs as sucked into his skin a few hours before.  
It takes Shaw embarrassingly little to get Hobbs hard, and once he's done that, he guides Hobbs' cock inside him himself. He pushes down against it fast and hard, and Hobbs' head spins wildly.  
He wants to tell Shaw to slow down, to be careful, tell him he's going to hurt himself; but judging by the way Shaw bites his lips and rolls his hips, he knows perfectly well what he needs.  
He keeps fucking himself on Hobbs' cock for a while, doesn't even break his rhythm when he opens his eyes and looks down at Hobbs (Hobbs pushes up, at that, whining when Shaw keeps him still,) or when he grabs Hobbs' hand and guides it between his legs.  
Hobbs tentatively sits up, and Shaw lets him. He brings a hand to the small of Shaw's back, presses him closer as he strokes his dick and tries to fight back the urge to flip him over and fuck him into the mattress. He kisses him instead, and Shaw doesn't protest, but traps Hobbs' lower lip between his teeth for a moment before tilting his head and kissing him back.  
He comes way quicker than he'd thought (or hoped) he would, grabbing Shaw's waist with both hands to guide him down to meet his own thrusts, and then flopping against him, squeezing him tight as his thrusts get slower and deeper and the orgasms dies down. He's basically hugging Shaw, face pressed to his chest, a hand running against his thigh, and he's surprised Shaw puts up with it.  
But, weirdly enough, that's what he does. He waits for Hobbs to catch his breath and lean back before rolling off of him and lying back down on the bed, lazily stroking his own dick. And this time around, Hobbs lets himself look properly. 

It hits him, later on, while he looks at Shaw wear some baggy clothes he's found in the closet, that he hasn't said a word through the whole thing.  
"Hey, uh." he murmurs, then clears his throat. He tells himself, with the same adult brain voice he uses when dealing with anything regarding his daughter, that he's a grown man and can deal with anything life puts in front of him. "We should talk about this."  
Shaw looks at him. He's got dark circles around his eyes, he still seems to have a hard time keeping his knees from wobblying. "Don't fret about it." he says.  
"Uh?"  
"You seem to be under the impression you can break me with a touch," Shaw says. "You can't."  
"It's not... I just. You weren't exactly capable to decide whether you wanted to have sex with me or not, not really..."  
"Maybe not. But I was capable of doing it the second time around," Shaw says, with the vaguest hint of a smile on his lips. "I know you think I may be holding something against you..."  
"I just want to know if you're ok." Hobbs says.  
Shaw seems to hesitate. "Is it true you punched a wall when you thought I was dead?" he asks.  
"I, uh. I did. Punch a wall. That, ah. That did happen, yes." Hobbs mutters, looking away for a moment, then back to Shaw.  
_Now_  Shaw smiles. "I'm ok," he says.  
"Good," Hobbs murmurs, his face burning up.


End file.
